worst of all, the sound of Charles Corgie peacefully, silently asleep for the first time Gray had ever heard.
Gray’s toe cramped. She found she had a headache. Her eyes narrowed in the darkness. She rearranged herself loudly, sighed, and drummed the bedside with her fingertips. She was still awake when early that morning she heard the pad of small feet, a brusque grunt from Charles, and the ladder again, down and up. A great male sigh. Only then did Gray turn limply on her side and doze for a couple of hours.
“You slept soundly last night,” said Gray as they peeled mangoes at breakfast.
“Yes,” said Charles. “I feel refreshed.” He was imbedded in his mango up to the second knuckle.
Gray only toyed with hers, listlessly pulling the gooey orange strings apart and then leaving them in a pulpy pile. “I think you and I need to have a religious conference.”
“Convened,” said Charles. “Shoot.”
“Do you have to be so jaunty?”
“You’re always badgering me for being surly at breakfast. For once I wake up in a good mood and you run me down for that, too. I can’t win, Kaiser.”
Gray squashed a piece of fruit between her fingers. “I want to discuss a point of catechism.”
“Philosophy! So early, too. That brain of yours must start ticking away as soon as your feet hit the floor.”
“Some mornings,” said Gray. “But I don’t want to talk theory. I want to talk practice.”
“Which makes perfect, as I remember.”
“That depends on what you’re practicing.”
Having finished off his mango, Charles started in on a banana with large, lunging mouthfuls. “Want one?”
Gray shook her head. “You’ve got quite an appetite today.”
“I have quite an appetite, period,” said Charles. “So what’s our Sunday-school lesson for today?”
Gray crossed her arms. “Listen, I think we should discuss this, but not because I’m prim. We take so many precautions to avoid the appearance of mortality. But your adventure last night seemed perilously biological.”
Charles put his feet up on the table. “Kaiser, sweetheart, it’s great to hear you worry about keeping the old religion afloat. But believe me, when it comes to keeping an eye on my ass I am an expert—”
“Seems to me you had your eye on someone else’s last night.”
Corgie grinned. “They like it.”
Gray stood up. “Well, I don’t.” She walked out the door, Charles laughing after her.
“They think it makes them powerful,” said Charles, leaning over the ladder as Gray clipped rapidly down.
“That’s precisely my point,” said Gray. “I think it does.”
Charles must have watched her brisk and unusually rigid stride to her precious furrows with a smile on his face and a satisfied gleam in his eye.
In the process of overseeing the planting, Gray also conducted informal interviews. Especially after she’d applied first aid to several farming injuries, Il-Ororen confided in her completely. At the end of the day Gray would go back to Corgie’s cabin and take furious notes.
What fascinated Gray as she studied this tribe was that, on a scale of generations, they hadn’t been separated from the Masai very long. It seems they’d deliberately purged themselvesof their own history. Maliciously they insisted on having no ancestors but those they could remember, no larger culture to which they owed their ability to throw pots, to mine and forge metal tools. Their creation myths and cautionary tales were no longer traditional Masai ones. While they still built kraals, they gladly constructed new blond structures. Nor had they gradually distorted Masai music, ceremonies, and dances; they had dumped them. Il-Ororen had invented themselves.
Most surprising of all, Gray now had no doubt that, while they resented particular tyrannies and didn’t understand the gymnasium, they cooperated willingly with Charles Corgie. She’d anticipated a gentle native population abused and manipulated by a cruel Western
Gray’s toe cramped. She found she had a headache. Her eyes narrowed in the darkness. She rearranged herself loudly, sighed, and drummed the bedside with her fingertips. She was still awake when early that morning she heard the pad of small feet, a brusque grunt from Charles, and the ladder again, down and up. A great male sigh. Only then did Gray turn limply on her side and doze for a couple of hours.
“You slept soundly last night,” said Gray as they peeled mangoes at breakfast.
“Yes,” said Charles. “I feel refreshed.” He was imbedded in his mango up to the second knuckle.
Gray only toyed with hers, listlessly pulling the gooey orange strings apart and then leaving them in a pulpy pile. “I think you and I need to have a religious conference.”
“Convened,” said Charles. “Shoot.”
“Do you have to be so jaunty?”
“You’re always badgering me for being surly at breakfast. For once I wake up in a good mood and you run me down for that, too. I can’t win, Kaiser.”
Gray squashed a piece of fruit between her fingers. “I want to discuss a point of catechism.”
“Philosophy! So early, too. That brain of yours must start ticking away as soon as your feet hit the floor.”
“Some mornings,” said Gray. “But I don’t want to talk theory. I want to talk practice.”
“Which makes perfect, as I remember.”
“That depends on what you’re practicing.”
Having finished off his mango, Charles started in on a banana with large, lunging mouthfuls. “Want one?”
Gray shook her head. “You’ve got quite an appetite today.”
“I have quite an appetite, period,” said Charles. “So what’s our Sunday-school lesson for today?”
Gray crossed her arms. “Listen, I think we should discuss this, but not because I’m prim. We take so many precautions to avoid the appearance of mortality. But your adventure last night seemed perilously biological.”
Charles put his feet up on the table. “Kaiser, sweetheart, it’s great to hear you worry about keeping the old religion afloat. But believe me, when it comes to keeping an eye on my ass I am an expert—”
“Seems to me you had your eye on someone else’s last night.”
Corgie grinned. “They like it.”
Gray stood up. “Well, I don’t.” She walked out the door, Charles laughing after her.
“They think it makes them powerful,” said Charles, leaning over the ladder as Gray clipped rapidly down.
“That’s precisely my point,” said Gray. “I think it does.”
Charles must have watched her brisk and unusually rigid stride to her precious furrows with a smile on his face and a satisfied gleam in his eye.
In the process of overseeing the planting, Gray also conducted informal interviews. Especially after she’d applied first aid to several farming injuries, Il-Ororen confided in her completely. At the end of the day Gray would go back to Corgie’s cabin and take furious notes.
What fascinated Gray as she studied this tribe was that, on a scale of generations, they hadn’t been separated from the Masai very long. It seems they’d deliberately purged themselvesof their own history. Maliciously they insisted on having no ancestors but those they could remember, no larger culture to which they owed their ability to throw pots, to mine and forge metal tools. Their creation myths and cautionary tales were no longer traditional Masai ones. While they still built kraals, they gladly constructed new blond structures. Nor had they gradually distorted Masai music, ceremonies, and dances; they had dumped them. Il-Ororen had invented themselves.
Most surprising of all, Gray now had no doubt that, while they resented particular tyrannies and didn’t understand the gymnasium, they cooperated willingly with Charles Corgie. She’d anticipated a gentle native population abused and manipulated by a cruel Western
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